Survivalism 101
by crackers4jenn
Summary: This is a twist on "Modern Warfare", with a Jeff/Annie slant.


It started when a capella music rose around them in a bitter taste of irony:

"Hit Me With Your Best Shot"

Ugh. The glee club was out there over-estimating their harmonious appeal, as usual.

Everyone but Troy (_sweet, good Troy_) was ducked behind over-turned tables, the very ones that hours before Annie herself had helped set up for Greendale's annual Spring Fling.

The singing wasn't even _good_, and Annie was about to stand up and give them a piece of her mind when Britta grabbed her by the sleeve and yanked her back down.

"That," she said, "would be the enemy. As a general rule of life and paintball, we try _not_ to get shot by the enemy."

"Listen," Abed hissed, his eyes like a hawk's. He gestured for silence, then tilted his head and became one with their surroundings. "It's coming from above."

Everyone looked up.

"From," Abed said, then jerked his head towards the large tree shaped like the soul of Jimi Hendrix. Vaughn's words.

Jeff got into a crouched position. He locked eyes with Britta first, then Annie.

His voice was super low. "On my count," he told them.

He held up a finger. _One_, Annie silently counted. Another finger. _Two_. When a third finger came up, they jumped to their feet and released a spray of brightly colored hell upon the glee tree.

Annie yelled, "Take that, copy infringement!" while one, two, then three of the glee dorks fell from the branches. Covered in paint.

Feeling pretty bad ass, Annie blew away imaginary smoke from the barrel of her gun.

Pierce seemed pretty dang proud of himself, too.

"How about that!" he laughed. "Guess we showed those songbird a-holes a note or two about-" and then he shot himself in the foot.

After three seconds of awed, dumbstricken silence, Pierce wondered, "Does that count?"

Annie looked to Jeff for help. Jeff's gaze skittered over to Britta, who said, "Oh, yeah, _I'd_ know. NOT."

She threw the confusion over to Abed, who considered it. "Against a commission of standards, it'd be hard to convince it was self-inflicted."

Shirley dealt it like it was: "You're out."

"But!" cried Pierce, still clutching at his gun-finger still on the trigger, actually. Annie casually side-stepped out of the way and hoped it didn't make her look insensitive. "Wait just a minute, I've barely started! What have I accomplished? Little to nothing, I've all but squandered my life away! I can't go out like this! I'm a fighter! Jeff," he then implored, shuffling with a panicky, urgent-looking shine to his eye, "you'll vouch for me, won't you? For old time's sake. From one old-timer to another."

Jeff gently unhooked Pierce's hands from around his shoulders. "Sorry, Pierce."

Abed cocked his head to the side. Suspicious noises surged in the distance, and with the glee club slinking off with nary a swan song, they all heard it. "We should get a move on, if we want to avoid a dusk light scenario," he said.

Shirley seemed all too thrilled to soldier forward. "Better faith next time, Pierce!" she chirped.

"The saying," Pierce haughtily corrected, "is 'better _luck_ next time.'" He seemed less than credible, though, with his shoe splattered pink.

"Oh, I know what I said."

While everyone went to follow Abed-some with apologetic glances to spare the fallen-Pierce, stricken, stumbled a step, then two.

"So that's it? You're just going to leave me here? Out with the old, in with the new, that's all it ever is with you people!"

Annie faltered. Did it _really_ count if he did it himself?

But Britta pushed her along. "C'mon. It's too late for Pierce."

"I know," was all she said, before moving forward to join the rest of the group.

"No," pleaded Pierce, his voice fading when they hit familiar grounds: the library. He got in one last fit, yelling, "Traitors! Ya bunch of cowards!" before the doors closed behind them with a dull but emphatic thud.

Annie tried not to think about Pierce after that.

* * *

It only seemed like minutes later, but was probably hours, that they sat huddled around a ball of fire ablaze in a trash can, right in the middle of their usual study room. Annie had put up a solid argument against the need for one-they were in a library, hello. Did any of them actually know how flammable books were? Plus, what would they use to start the fire-oh my god, they wanted to use the books. Wasn't that illegal? Annie was a strong statistical percent confident that book-burning was one of those things that either got you flagged as a lesbian or sent to jail, neither of which would look good on her college transcripts. But in the end her sound logic was overruled by basic survival instinct.

Britta warmed her hands over the fire while Annie tried to unroll her sleeves. Earlier, her outfit looked bad ass. Now it just seemed impractical.

Everyone else was quiet. Too quiet.

"Conversation would be nice," Shirley broke the silence, then asked, with all of her usual chipperness, "What's everyone going to do if they win priority registration?"

Annie's mind glazed over with ideas she'd barely had time to dwell upon: a structured schedule that allowed for all of her extracurricular activities while still largely being academic-oriented. She'd pick classes based on popularity, not availability.

Jeff sounded reverent as he said, "I'd make it so all my classes were on Monday. Imagine with me, those brave enough, a six day weekend. A schedule so airtight, classes overlap... Maybe," his voice dropped, and he was talking to himself, "I'd get out of here in three years instead of four."

Annie thought about how sad that sounded. And ridiculous.

"Yeah, well, I'd take any class, just so long as there's no tests and no papers," said Britta.

Annie's eyes took on a far away look as she imagined her perfect schedule. "I think I'd sign up for more night classes. I don't know, the student body just seems more _alive_ at night."

Jeff drew himself out of his absorption enough to drawl, "Student body? Annie, they have a name. And it's _Future Convicts of America_."

"Well," she sniffed, a little put off by his discouragement. "I don't care! I think it'd be neat."

"You have priority registration, and your first instinct is to build an empire around the word _neat_?"

"Chill," Britta reminded them, holding out passive, peace-invoking hands.

"Britta's right," said Abed. His eyes glossed over, and mentally he drifted into the world in his head where they were all scripted characters too unoriginal to have an original thought. "It's too early to turn on each another. You want to hold off until the last, possible second, when the tension is palpable. It makes it personal."

"What about you, Shirley?" Annie asked, shaking away the very real reality of Abed's brand of truth-giving. "What would you do with the prize?"

"That's easy. Morning classes. So I can spend more time with my boys," she smiled, then admitted in a softer, more heavyhearted tone, "It's hard being away from them so much."

Annie thought that was way sadder than Jeff and his ill-conceived ambitions.

"I say," Britta declared, "that if any of us win, we give the prize to Shirley. For Mother's Day."

Shirley beamed, while Annie clasped her hands together, feeling the love.

"Okay," Abed was the first to agree, and Annie said, "Awww. Guys!"

"What?" Jeff gaped. His nastiness effectively broke the happy spell around them. "Abed, you don't have to do that. And Annie? Ugh. You of all people are going to be suckered into Britta's web of phony humanitarian lies?"

"Phony?" Britta echoed, then gloated, "When I win, you can watch me do it!"

"Of course you're going to do it, but that won't make it less phony. You know, you'd be a lot more likable if-"

"If I never did anything for anybody, ever?"

"_Guys_," Annie broke in, her mouth hanging open in disbelief. "Don't you think we have other, more important things to worry about right now?"

"You mean besides Britta's hidden self-serving agenda?"

"I'm gonna so love kicking your ass," Britta sneered.

"Not as much as I'm going to love rubbing it in your face. Which I'll be doing. When I win."

"Weird," said Abed.

"_What_?" Britta and Jeff barked, at the same time. Tension was mounting.

Abed shrugged. "Nothing. Just... weird. That was an observation," he explained. "I said the first thing that came to mind. _Weird_. Mostly because your chemistry is evolving."

"You want to know what else is weird?" Britta wondered.

"Your not-ironic love for marrying animals with other animals?" snarked Jeff.

"That is _sweet_!" she defended, if not a little crazily. "They have _feelings_, they want _love_, just like everyone else!"

"Sweet?" Jeff echoed back. "Or psychotic?"

"SHUT _UP_," shouted Annie, springing to her feet. "You know what? All you guys do is fight! And it's not even cute, it's annoying. Like old people. You're like my parents, and if you met my parents, you'd know how much I'm seriously putting you down right now. This? Is a war, people! We don't have time for personal vendettas!"

"Uh, guys?" said Shirley, jabbing at Abed, who was fixated on Annie.

"You want to settle your gross, dysfunctional beef? Do it on your own time!" Annie yelled.

"_Gu-uuu-uys_," Shirley's voice took on a sing-song quality.

"WHAT?" Jeff, Britta, and Annie all shouted back this time.

"First of all, I don't care for that tone. And second of all. The eagle has landed."

"Shirley, that's gibberish," Britta sighed.

"It's code," said Abed. "For that," he pointed. Just outside the study room, from both exits, were a pair of rollerskating disco freaks.

"Great," Jeff remarked dryly, "we're surrounded by the world's worst decade."

Slowly they stood, and with their backs touching, the group squared off in the far center of the room, guns out.

"Anyone have a plan?" asked Shirley, while they circled.

"We wait for them to make the first move. When the door opens, I dive to the right. It creates the perfect diversion for Annie and Britta, who open fire. Hell rains down in the form of colored paint, while Jeff, at an advantage because of his height, takes out the two at the front entrance. Shirley, you cover our backs."

"Right," said Shirley, after a beat, "I meant something that won't make me feel even more ridiculous than I already feel, playing this game on Grey's Anatomy night."

"Yeah," said Jeff, with his own plan. "We blaze the crap out of them. Starting with Disco Stu and his retro outfit from Hell."

The next five minutes were spent as if the bowels of the underworld had exploded from below. It was ugly. There were cries of pain, of internal conflict. Paint flew through the air; loaded bullets that burst all colors of the neon spectrum.

When it was over, two of their men were down.

"Legs," was all Abed said, noting where he'd been hit. Annie felt a pang. But that pang grew in size when she noticed Shirley was their other lost soldier.

She rushed to her side, where Britta was already there to ease the pain. She wouldn't have to go out alone. That was a comforting thought, and Annie held onto it, squeezing Shirley's shoulder.

"I'm going home?" asked Shirley. Annie's heart sank.

"I know," Britta soothed her. They gave her a warm smile.

"No, seriously," said Shirley, "I'm going home. Can you help me up?"

While Britta pulled Shirley to her feet, Annie surveyed the landscape. They had taken out every threat on wheels, and though they lost two damn fine people, they still had strength in their numbers.

Abed helped Shirley out of the library, and Britta called after her, "Shirley, I'm going to win that prize for you and your boys!"

"That's nice," Shirley said.

Jeff shouted after them, louder, "Shirley, I'm going to win that prize, but NOT for you and yours boys!"

"That's less nice," were her departing words, and moments later, it was just Annie, Britta, and Jeff who OH MY GOD, they had a bleeder. BLEEDER.

"Jeff," Annie held up her hands, palms open, "I don't want to alarm you or anything, but." And she made _Uh oh!_ eyes at his stomach, where a circle of red stained his shirt.

Jeff's eyes went wide, but when he swabbed at the area, he laughed. "Oh, thank god. It's blood! I thought it was paint."

Annie eyed him like he was crazy. Which, maybe he was. War reeked havoc on the mind.

"You need to get that checked out," she told him, strong in her conviction. She eyeballed Britta, looking for some sisterly back-up.

Britta automatically took a step back. "Can't he just slowly bleed to the point of having an itchy scab?"

Annie let out a small, disappointed noise.

"FINE," Britta exhaled, then swept past them. "Follow me to the infirmary. I hope you find the glow of the vending machine cathartic."

* * *

When Britta shoved a first aid kit into Jeff's hands, he only stared at the thing. Then said, "Well, what're you waiting for? Fix me up, doc."

"Oh, please, how weak do you think my knees are? Fix yourself up."

Annie stepped forward. "I could-"

But both Britta and Jeff shouted, "NO!", glaring at her.

"Should I strip off your shirt, maybe catch my quivering breath at the bulging muscles beneath?" Britta wondered, not without some sarcasm. "Give me a break."

Jeff only smirked. "How do you know my muscles would bulge?" He mock-gasped. "Have you been-" a scandalized whisper, "peeking?"

Again, Annie took a step forward. "Seriously, I can-"

"NO!" they said again, with another glare.

Annie snatched the kit from Jeff anyway. "What, and stand here instead watching you two go at? I'd rather watch Troy and Abed play the Who Gags First game." With all of her formidableness gathered in a scowl, she said, "Jeff, sit down," finger pointed at the bench beside the emergency cabinet.

Jeff sunk like a sack of potatoes, easily going limp.

"Annie," Britta said, breathing it out quietly. "You don't have to treat him like he's a baby, or worse. Josh Hartnett."

"Who's... Josh Hartnett?"

"Seriously?" Britta said, then flapped her hands in front of her, face pinched in. "Ugh, it doesn't matter! Jeff's a grown _man_."

Jeff rested his elbows along the back length of the bench, legs sprawled indecently far apart. "Noticed that, did you?"

Britta silently withered him by power of her stare, then said, "See what I mean?"

Annie carefully opened up the first aid kit, pulling out the necessities. Some cotton balls, ointment, a large bandage. The aspirin she thought about popping for herself-but. It was a small thought, and she easily shoved it aside.

"Look," she said, as she settled beside Jeff. He lifted his shirt off in one clean, smooth motion, and Annie hesitated, blinded by the stupidly unexpected sight of lotsa-Jeff-flesh.

Britta scoffed, while Jeff visibly preened. Annie blushed, then set about her work in a detached, don't-think-about-it-don't-think-about-i

t-don't-think-about-it manner.

"You two have some weird... _thing_ going on right now," she said, face set into a pensive frown while she dabbed at Jeff's cut. Thankfully, it was only a flesh wound. "Earlier, Abed told us all it was pent up sexual frustration that needed to have a release."

Britta scoffed. Again. But harder, and with more hate.

Annie said, "I know we're all that's left, and I guess in some way it's inevitable, but I don't want to be placed in the middle of it. Because, honestly?"

She paused a second to concentrate, making sure there was no debris in the lesion. When she was confident it was clean, she stuck the bandage on, smoothing down the corners with her fingers.

"You guys are kinda immature," she finished, crinkling up the bandage wrapper and tossing it back into the first aid kit, along with everything else. She got to her feet with a smile, swiping her hands down her thighs, and added, "No offense."

"_We're_ immature?" Britta laughed, like there was some huge irony there.

"You got into a fight about animal matrimony. Soooo. Yeah."

Britta laughed again, lower, then whipped out her paintball gun, all traces of amusement wiped clean. "Who's immature now, huh?"

Jeff slowly stood and pulled his undershirt back on, while Annie gasped, making Britta mock-gasp back. And then something crazy unwound inside Annie, and she grabbed her own gun out from the holster she'd craftily put together using a sock, a hole puncher, and one of Troy's shoelaces.

Her eyes flared as she stood with her gun pointed in Britta's face, the barrel of Britta's own gun pointed right back at her.

"Looks like you're not the only loose canon in this equation," Annie tossed back.

Jeff stared the stare of the super judgmental before going, "So, to be clear. We're turning against each other now?"

Their guns swung his way.

"Shut up!" Britta and Annie shouted as one, and when they realized they'd done so, they aimed their weapons back at each other.

"Annie," Britta breathed out, her trigger finger slipping, "Can I talk to you?" Her head jerked to the side, and she said out of the corner of her mouth, "In private?"

That's when Jeff's gun came out.

"Not so fast, ladies. I wasn't born yesterday. This is sabotage."

Annie looked worried. "It is?"

"Priority registration is mine," Jeff told them both.

Britta held her head high. "I'm doing this for Shirley."

Feeling left out, Annie said, "_Yeah_. I'm doing this for-night classes!"

"What?" Britta dropped her stance. "You're not helping Shirley out?"

Confused, and a little embarrassed, Annie lowered her gun too. "It's _sweet_, what you're doing. But."

"But," Britta parroted, gun in Annie's face again, this time more emphatically, "Jeff's got to you. Unbelievable."

Jeff was staring at Annie in a way she didn't like; equal parts shock and admiration. Like he was proud of her for being so selfish. At least his gun wasn't pointed at her any more.

"This is bigger than Shirley," Annie said, mostly to convince herself.

Britta hit her hard with, "Y'know, I'd expect this from Pierce. Maybe Troy. But not you."

"So this is how it's going to be, huh?" Annie welcomed the crazy. If Britta wanted to start a blood bath, fine with her. She'd _lather_ in it.

"Looks like," Britta agreed, and then ducked to the right. On instinct, Annie shot off a round. Paint splattered the wall behind where Britta, only seconds before, had stood, and from her new position-covered by the protection of the vending machine-Britta gasped.

"Annie!"

"Sorry!" Annie was quickly apologizing, then caught herself. "I mean. NOT sorry! Because it's every man or woman for themselves now, and because SCREW YOU!" she shouted as a battle cry before turning and running.

* * *

Annie heard a noise. The pop of gunfire, the subsequent cries of despair. And then footsteps. She flattened against a tall shelf of books, back in the R-Th section of the library.

"_Annie_."

It was Jeff, whispering. He called her name again, like he was searching for her. Ha. Like she was going to fall for his trap.

When he'd wandered far enough, she jumped out from between the stacks, gun held square.

"Freeze, scumbag!" she shouted, and Jeff immediately leveled her with his own aimed weapon.

"This isn't a set-up," he assured her.

"Oh, please. Where's Britta?"

"Right now? I'm guessing somewhere with a toe tag."

"You shot her?"

"I'd call it more of a mercy killing."

"Are we the only ones left?"

"Maybe."

Annie stepped to the side, and Jeff followed her movement with his gun. When she realized that they were at an impasse, she faltered.

"What are we going to do?"

If it looked like she was batting her eyelashes? That was probably just a trick of the light. Or err flecks of paint.

"The doe eyes? Really? How dumb do you think I am?"

"I don't know. You're planning a kamikaze class schedule. You tell me."

"What are you talking about? My schedule will be _awesome_. Scholars far and wide will gather to study its innovation."

"You're forgetting one thing." She lowered her gun. "The workload."

Jeff's eyes went round as realization dawned on him.

"That many classes in one day?" she said, though her voice was gentle. "It's suicide, Jeff."

Something passed behind his eyes. Something wild. "Yeah? Coming from you? Excuse me while I choke on the irony."

She raised her gun back into the defensive position again, refusing to be wounded. Slowly she began to circle Jeff, who followed her step-for-step.

"At least I thought things through," she told him.

And then he stopped moving. Looking smug.

"You sure about that?"

That's when Annie caught sight of the barrel-end of a gun pointed at her head. Not Jeff's. Britta's.

She couldn't help it. She gasped.

"Surprise, surprise," said Britta.

Annie felt something slip inside of her. Her trust in humanity, maybe. Her eyes were on Jeff. "You said-"

"That he shot me?" Britta rubbed it in. "Yeah. My idea. Pretty crazy, huh?"

"But-"

"It's not personal."

"You're pointing a gun at my face!"

Before things could escalate to a carried out act of backstabbing, the library doors inwardly swung open. A stray pile of copy machine paper swirled and scattered, lifted up in its breeze.

There stood Senor Chang, illuminated by the outside glow of the campus lights. Carrying one monster-sized paintball gun.

"Buenos dias. Children."

Annie barely had time to dive and roll to safety before Senor Chang opened fire, landing behind a waist-high shelf of books that stretched nearly all the way to their study room. Maybe, somehow, if she crept low, she could make it there. And from there, who knows. An air duct, maybe. That seemed safe.

Suddenly, Jeff landed beside her, his back against the books.

"What the hell?" he whispered fiercely. "Chang's not a student!"

Still feeling the burn of betrayal, Annie army-crawled her way around him, ignoring his raised eyebrows at her method of mobility. But when she'd made it past, he started to follow.

Out there, beyond their offered cover, Senor Chang was laughing. It sounded creepy, mostly because he was unloading bullets like a madman. Green paint splattered all around them.

When she got to the end of the row, she reached behind her, checking on her gun. Jeff pulled up alongside her, the entire length of him ridiculously spilling out a whole foot longer than she was.

He tried to peer around her, for a better angle of the situation. Their shoulders bumped, and strands of her hair clung to his skin, stuck there by sweat. _Other_ parts of him were pressed against her, too, she realized, hit with this knowledge in a way that made her heart feel like it was lodged in her throat. His elbow. The hard part of his knee, where he had it crooked.

Annie calmed herself by remembering how it felt when Britta showed up with her gun, and how unapologetic Jeff was about the whole thing.

The jerks.

Taking her own destiny in her hands, screw everyone else, she scrambled to her knees. Right away, Jeff sensed her intentions.

"Annie!" he hissed, grabbing at her arm, but she shook him off and bolted toward the open door. The study room. Hallowed ground.

As soon as she left the cover of protection, the openness of her surroundings overwhelmed her. Senor Chang was on a war path. Bullets flew recklessly around her, whizzing past, awful reminders of how fickle fate was.

And then it stopped. And Annie, curious, paused and glanced just long enough to see Senor Chang whip open his jacket. Hidden underneath it: devastation. With a countdown.

Senor Chang's laugh turned evil, and he fluttered his fingers at her in a cruel wave while his-was that a BOMB? Of PAINT? It ticked from _five_ to _four_, and Annie just barely caught sight of a flash of blonde-Britta?-when she was hit from behind.

Not by a bullet, but by a force so strong, she was propelled into the study room. She landed with a heavy thud, so shocked a second later when a literal explosion sent the room into an apocalyptic seizure, she hardly felt any pain.

Until she heard Jeff groaning, and that's when she realized that he was sprawled out beside her, unscathed, and with an arm draped protectively around her waist.

He'd... saved her.

Jeff rolled to his back, leaving Annie to her bewilderment. _Why_ would he save her?

Out in the other room, they heard the trudging of wet footsteps, then a high, keening wail. Senor Chang-covered head to toe in green-stood in the door frame, looking down at Jeff and Annie's paint-free bodies with bitter defeat. That quickly turned into petulance.

"No!" he whined, kicking at a torn up library book that'd been left on the ground. "No, no, no, no, no!"

Jeff laughed. It sounded crazy.

Annie was already starting to sit up when Britta came shambling into view. Her hair was matted down with thick green globs of paint that dripped onto her jeans, which were otherwise unmarked.

"This sucks," she complained. "You guys suck."

They left them there, on the floor, just as they were.

* * *

Annie had gone out and retrieved her gun from the open part of the library, where it'd fallen to the ground during Jeff's heroics.

Jeff had moved from laying on the ground, to lying on top of the table. Annie thought about how weird it was, and how weird Jeff was, but. She didn't dwell.

"What time is it?" he asked when she came back, arms stocked with vending machine goods.

"A little after three." She set the food beside him.

"Awesome," he droned.

Annie was tired. But more than that, she felt energized. Invigorated. While she was gone, she had scouted the area, and. They were the last two standing.

Jeff rubbed at his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. It made him seem so _old_. And yet. Her eyes flicked to his biceps. Definitely nothing old about those.

She blushed when he rolled into a sitting positing, his legs swinging around to hang over the edge of the table. Just a stupid reaction to have. He didn't even notice her ogling his arms, like she was-Pierce. Gross!

But then his eyes fixed on hers. Innocently, at first, and then, catching on to the deepening pink of her cheeks, wickedly. And Annie thought to herself, good. This is good. She could work with this, because if there was one thing she'd come to learn about Jeff, it's that he was basically a giant slut. NOT that she was going to seduce him like SHE was a giant slut! But it'd definitely skirted across her mind more than once that she could weaken him using her feminine wiles.

Cheap, right, and demoralizing? But a girl's got to do what a girl's got to do.

And now she had the perfect opportunity.

He only stiffened, not saying a word, when she took calculated steps toward him. And she was giving off crazy vibes of SEXY. Not that she had any real practice, but her gay ex-boyfriend always seemed to like it when she got like this. Vaughn, too.

She drew her pointer finger across his knee, lightly tracing the jean's design. She felt his muscles tense beneath the fabric, and an internal shout of triumph seized up within her. Any second now, she'd whip out her gun and end this game.

Jeff leaned back onto his hands. When he spoke, his voice rumbled from deep in his throat. "Annie," he breathed, this exhale that made his shirt flutter up near his shoulders. "It would have to be _jaw-droppingly_ diabolical of you to screw me over, right after I saved your skin."

Annie's jaw _did_ drop. Protests formed and began to spill, but Jeff arched one cool, give-me-a-break-kid eyebrow, making her sexy lip-pout crumble into a real one.

"Yeah, that?" he remarked. "About as thinly veiled as Pierce's racist diatribes. You are _so bad at this_," he laughed, not unkindly.

What? That was so not true, and to prove it, she set her face into a determined glower, made a snap decision, and climbed onto the table. Like, actual climbing. She used her hold on his legs for leverage and pulled herself up, so that she was all but kneeling. Between his legs, which were-they were open really wide, which Annie was not going to think about, she was just going to focus on how she was PROVING HIM WRONG.

_That_ knocked the stupid smug grin right off his face!

"Uh, _yeah_," he said, shaking his head, like he was grasping for some kind of tangible piece of reality to cling to. "Never mind."

Her responding smile was huge, warm, and chockful of victory. She gave a small, acknowledging curtsy, before slipping her leg out from beneath her to slide off the table. Except Jeff laid his hand on her waist. And it wasn't a friendly, here-let-me-help-you-down-it-sure-is-tricky-from-this-height gesture, she saw, when she sucked in a breath and looked up into his eyes.

In Annie's more brazen of Troy-fantasies, back when Troy was her go-to for romantic daydreaming, events were often scripted in this manner. He'd gaze into her eyes, and she'd look into his, and he'd tell her how he always secretly thought she was cool. His hand would be where Jeff's was, and she'd lean in, and-

She _was_ leaning in, but so was Jeff.

Previously, Annie had only ever felt like her heart was beating out of her chest when she was over-abusing pills. But she felt that same charge of adrenaline now, like she had her own private thrill again in doing something _wrong_.

"For the love of non-discriminatory higher powers, it's been-_sweet dalmatians_, that's mounting."

Annie all but fell off the table. Jeff bolted to his feet.

"Nothing," he panted, to Dean Pelton, who had come traipsing through the paint covered library and was now openly gaping.

Annie looked at Jeff, felt a flutter low in her stomach, then quickly looked back at the Dean. "We were just-!"

"Talking, _as innocents_," Jeff filled in, nodding emphatically at Annie to go along with it, which, duh. Obviously. Like she was going to have the Dean thinking she was some kind of campus floozy.

Dean Pelton closed his eyes, silently taking a mental vacation. He touched the side of his head, massaging his temple, and said, "Skipping it, I'm skipping it." His eyes popped back open. "So you're the last two standing? That's adorable. But," he confided, dipping his hips, "oops! This whole thing? It's not _re-eee-al_."

Jeff exchanged another, more confused and 'should we be going batshit right now?" look with Annie.

"_What_," he said, "isn't real? Note the invisible threat."

The Dean tossed his hands in the air and laughed, "It's all a bunch of make believe! Priority registration doesn't _really_ exist, but WOW," he slow-clapped, "am I loving your dedication to Greendale. Talk about inspiring."

"Not... real?" Annie felt lightheaded.

So they'd TORN at each other like savages, the entire campus, for... nothing? They'd starved! They'd turned on each other! For pretend?

Jeff was laughing his crazy laugh again. He sobered scarily quick, though, and said one word: "No."

The Dean tilted his head forward, cupped a hand to his ear. "Exsqueeze me?"

"I said," Jeff reached behind him and pulled out his gun, "_No_."

He aimed it at Dean Pelton. Annie nearly gasped. That was THE DEAN. As in, of their ENTIRE SCHOOL.

"Okay! Ya got me." Dan Pelton held up his hands, mockingly, wearing this annoyingly amused smile on his face, like Jeff was acting like nothing more than an overgrown toddler. "_Don't shoot!_"

Ugh, how obnoxious. Annie pulled out her own gun. How about _that_?

The Dean only laughed. "Cute!" His fingers swung back and forth between Annie and Jeff, all condescendingly. "What a pair. But, yeah. Not working. Sorry, as much as I'd _love_ to help you two out, the matter is, unfortunately, out of my hands. I _can_ offer the winner a brand new DVD player, though. Blu-Ray? Tell you what. I'll even throw in a bonus movie and everything. Either of you seen _The Blind Side_ yet? Starring Sandra Bullock?"

"Annie," Jeff said, eyes locked on the Dean's.

"Jeff."

"It's been fun."

"Likewise."

And not for the first time that night, all hell broke loose. The Dean leapt for cover seconds after the first of their bullets started flying. His screams pierced the air, but it wasn't until he started shouting their names that they let up.

From behind the trash can where their fire had long since burned out, Dean Pelton said, "I'll do it, I'll do it! It's yours. Priority registration."

"_Both_ of ours," Annie made sure to add. Then she yelled, "SAY IT."

High-pitched, his voice wavering, the Dean agreed. "_Both_," he heartily nodded, still cowering. "Yup. Sounds doable."

Jeff was staring at Annie, awed, she could tell, but all that mattered was that the Dean had acquiesced.

They'd won.

They'd won!

Oh, god. What _time_ was it?

**THE END**


End file.
